


Waltz No.2

by Impalapossible



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dancing, F/M, Flirting, Fluff, Ghost Hunting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-15
Updated: 2016-09-15
Packaged: 2018-08-15 03:11:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8040226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Impalapossible/pseuds/Impalapossible
Summary: The Annual Autumn Harvest Masquerade Ball was a place both the living and the dead were eager to get into. The Winchester brothers gain enterance and begin their hunt, but Dean finds himself far more distracted with one of the guests whom he just can’t keep his eyes off of the whole night.





	Waltz No.2

The Autumn Harvest Masquerade. It was held every year by the all too affluent Smith family at their large, several hundred year old plantation turned mansion. Anyone who was anyone would be attending the event, be they living or deceased.

The Winchester brothers had heard the account of haunting centered around this masquerade for years. John had even spoken to them about it and written information down in his journal. No one seemed to be able to locate the apparition who caused the deaths of dozens over the years. It only showed up on one night. Once a year. The detail about the ghost were sketchy at best. Some claimed it to be a former slave out for revenge. Others said it was a man dressed in his Confederate uniform. Regardless, Dean and Sam used all of their best charms, wit, and hunting instincts in order to get invitations and in through the door.

When they entered, everything was immaculately decorated. The main entrance had a grand staircase with rooms on either side, emptied of their furniture. Spaces for dancing. Giant chandeliers with real candles flickered. The walls were adorned with tapestries and paintings, each easily worth more than Sam and Dean could ever imagine seeing in one lifetime. covered in tapestries. Crown molding in hues of gold sparkled with silhouettes of nymphs and angels, making the space appear more luxurious even with the sparse seating arrangements. And everyone around them was dressed in their best ball gowns, tuxedos, and almost every face bore elaborately decorated masks in every shape, color, and style.

Dean could not have felt more out of place if he had tried. The tuxedo he rented fit him perfectly, but it was uncomfortable. And the maroon and silver mask Sam bought him scratched his nose and made it difficult for him to have decent peripheral vision.

“Sam, come on man. Do I have to wear this stupid thing?” He exclaimed, scratching at his face and pulling at his sleeves like a little child. Sam turned towards him and chuckled.

“Dude, just stop fiddling with it. Pull out your EMF meter and you go search the west wing. I will go search the east. The ghost has to be mingling with people already, Let’s hope it didn’t catch anyone before we got here.” With that, Sam turned on his heel leaving Dean alone.

“I just don’t see why I have to wear this stupid thing. I hate dressing up.” Dean muttered as he made his way towards the west wing where everyone was singing and dancing. He reached for one of the champagne glasses as a waiter passed, but just as he was about to grasp it, a smaller hand in a silk black glove took it. He frustratingly turned to look at who was taking the glass from him. His disposition shifted immediately when his eyes caught yours.

“Sorry, didn’t realize you were reaching for the same glass. Would you like it, sir?” You said sweetly, smiling up from underneath your silver and gold mask.

“Oh no. Please. You drink up. I have something more beautiful to drink in.” Although your face was obscured, Dean could tell by your body language, even in that big poofy black ballgown, that you must have been blushing.

“You flatter me sir.”

“I haven’t even started flattering you.” He winked causing you to chuckle.

“I am Dean, by the way. Dean Stark.”

“Y/N.”

“No last name?”

You shook your head at him. “Don’t be silly. I have a last name, but I fear it will defeat the purpose of wearing a mask if I give you all of my information instead of letting you untie the mystery one piece at a time.”

Dean came closer to you, his green eyes peering into your own, a serious expression on his face. “Come on, that isn’t fair. I at least want to know the name of the woman who stole my glass of champagne, and maybe even my heart.”

You looked away from him, twirling the champagne in your glass before taking a sip. “Are you related to the Beddingfield Starks?”

He sighed. You were going to play hard to get. Well two could play that game. “No relation. Or maybe a relation. You need to unravel the mysteries of me too sweetheart.”

You looked back up at him, and Dean noted the more lustful and desirous look in your eyes. You cleared your throat and set the rest of your glass on a tray as another waiter started to skate past you both. “Well, Mr. Stark. Are you with someone this evening?”

Dean smirked, taking one of your hands in his own and pulling it to his lips. “I am now.”

Dean had all but forgotten about the hunt as he spent the next hour listening as you gave him a tour of the estate. He assumed you must have been one of the Smith family heirs by the way you went on about even the smallest details. Every so often he would interject, like when you claimed the gardens were most beautiful during this season and he reminded you that you were the most beautiful. Every pick up seemed to garner a fit of smiles and giggling from you. It soothed the lonely ache in his heart to have someone truly enjoy all the attention he was giving them, and for them to give just as much back. The only thing he wished you would do was take off the mask on your face so he could see exactly the woman he had been following.

When you finished the tour, you started pulling him towards the dance floor. He attempted to resist, but you were stronger than you looked.

“Y/N. I can’t dance. I don’t know how to dance.”

“Than you shall learn.” You pulled him close, directing his feet with your own. You fixed his posture before adjusting your own. And the two of you were off just as the first notes of Shostakovitch’s Second Waltz began to play. Although Dean stepped on your dress, your toes, and nearly ran you into every single other couple dancing on the floor, you maintained eye contact with him and he hung on every word of direction you gave him. When you told him to lift you up and twirl, he did. When you told him to let you go and spin, he did you bowed to one another.

“Well, Mr. Stark. It has been a lovely evening, but it is almost midnight which means I must be off.” You started to get up from your curtsy, when Dean decided it was now or never. He pulled you in by your waist, the feel of the boning in your corseted bodice distinct in his grasp. You let out a small gasp as your bodies pressed into one another. He used his other hand to tilt your chin upward.

“Mr. Stark.”

“Dean. Call me Dean.” He said as his lips hovered over your own. He could feel the heat of our breath against his lips.

“Dean.” His name came out as more of a moan, sending warmth shooting through his own body.

The clock chimed for midnight. One. Two. Three. Four.

“May I kiss you?”

“Dean, I-”

 

Five. Six. Seven. Eight.

Dean felt his palms getting sweaty. His heart raced in his chest. He had almost fully pressed his lips to your own. “Please. Just one kiss.”

Nine. Ten. Eleven.

Upon the final chime, Dean felt a sudden loss of heat, and the weight of you gone from his arms. He blinked several times against the rising, swirling black and white smoke dancing in his arms. He looked around himself before his eyes landed on a silver and gold mask. The same one he had been staring at all night.

“Dean?” Sam’s voice shook Dean from his trance on the object. He turned to see his brother running towards him, practically out of breath.

“Dean, I looked everywhere. Nothing.”

Dean stood there, still frozen in place. “Sammy…I think I just….”

“You just what?”

“Waltzed with a ghost.”


End file.
